Cold Fire
by Ela
Summary: Azelma tries to warm up during a cold winter night in the Gorbeau house.


Eeep. I realized I forgot the disclaimer. Really, shouldn't one know by now that I am NOT the great Hugo reincarnated? Ai, I don't own any of the characters. *Pfft!* Ha!  
  
Azelma shivered. It was cold that night; her rags were insufficient to keep her warm in the winter months. The old newspapers that served as covers could hardly make up for real, wool blankets. But at least she was inside, and not outside, where she could've been surrounded by the icy air of night. No, she was inside, inside her family's dark, tight apartment in the Gorbeau tenement, lying on the hard mattress, near the rodents and critters that don't like the light of day.  
  
Beside her, asleep, was her sister Eponine, dreaming the snow away.  
  
Azelma, that poor, ragged urchin, she was so cold. Too cold to sleep. The wind drafted through the cracks and the snow floated through the window, since it didn't close right from the time when Father had smacked her into the wall; she hadn't brought home more than a centime that day. She had hurt her head, and her hand.  
  
It was all her fault. She wasn't worth anything.  
  
No. Her father wasn't. And he couldn't help it. He was just another pawn for the powers of greed.  
  
Didn't he have good reason? It was really cold that night. Azelma thought of better days, when there would be fires in every room, and they had real beds, and covers. Now she didn't even have decent clothing. Why should she be shivering in the middle of the night when she should be in a soft, warm bed? Nothing made sense anymore.  
  
Azelma brushed the snow from her hair and sighed. Snow belonged *outside*, not inside. What was the sense of winter, if not to freeze her to death?  
  
Azelma shivered despite herself. She was trying very hard not to be cold, but was failing miserably. If only mother would let her tend the fire.  
  
"Get away from there!" Madame Thénardier had yelled, shoving Azelma away from the warmth. "You could burn yourself!"  
  
Azelma had pouted for a while, but only in her mind. She rubbed her hands to keep from going numb, and wrapped her arms around her legs for body heat. But nothing could stop the harsh frost of winter from seeping into her bones.  
  
Now Azelma sat up. She was restless; she needed to escape the harsh chills. She needed to stop shivering uncontrollably.  
  
Accidentally knocking her paper blankets to the floor, Azelma tiptoed around the furniture, faltering in the dark. Eventually she made it to the fireplace; it wasn't far. Nothing was, in their little hovel.  
  
Azelma fumbled around, searching for something to start the fire with. She had watched her mother only somewhat; she had really dreamed the day away more than anything. Now she wished she had paid more attention to how her mother had worked the flame.  
  
Suddenly Azelma's hands stumbled upon a wooden box. She remembered her mother digging through the box, muttering to herself. Azelma opened it, and in the light of the moon she could see three lumps of coal. They were small, rough and sooty; they were the last ones left.  
  
Maybe she had rubbed them together.  
  
Vaguely recalling, but a dream of fire to look forward to, Azelma set forth to rub two coals together. At first it was hard; the constant knocking set poor 'Zelma off balance, and the coals were hard. But soon Azelma got used to the rhythmic motions, and the stone gave in. But it was still some time before Azelma saw the sparks leap from the coal.  
  
"Oh!" Azelma cried aloud. She stared at the sparks in wonder; she didn't know what to do next.  
  
"Place it in the fire," a voice whispered from behind.  
  
"Ah!" Azelma turned to find Eponine sitting in the shadows. "Oh, 'Ponine, it's just you. You scared the daylights out of me!"  
  
"Hurry, dolt!" Eponine grabbed the coals from Azelma and struck them in the fireplace, just in time to create a spark of fire. Eponine then dropped the blaze into the fireplace.  
  
The two sisters then huddled around the fire's glow, taking advantage of the temporary source of heat to warm themselves. The fire gave the room an eerie, hellish light, causing the shadows to dance.  
  
"I'm sorry, 'Zelma," Eponine whispered after a moment's hesitation.  
  
"It's okay," Azelma whispered back.  
  
"You know, after this, there won't be any left."  
  
"There's still a lump in the wooden box, I checked."  
  
Eponine shook her head. "I don't think it'll be enough to warm us up."  
  
Azelma looked at the wooden box, deep in thought.  
  
"Couldn't we burn the box."  
  
". the box itself? I s'pose. Papa would wonder what happened, and Mamma would be cross that we wasted the fire."  
  
"There's no such thing as a fire wasted in winter, 'Ponine," Azelma pointed out.  
  
"Yeah, she'd just be angry that she wasn't awake to hog it. Don't tell her that, though."  
  
"Don't worry; I don't tell her anything."  
  
"Hm," Eponine poked a coal with her toe. "How's your hand?"  
  
Azelma regarded her hand; it wasn't as serious as the cut on her head, but there was nothing to be done about that one. Eponine had wrapped her hand with a piece of her shirt. Eponine took care of all her wounds.  
  
"I dunno; the blood's dried, but it still hurts."  
  
"It'll prolly hurt for a while. There; put the last coal in. It's not big enough, but it'll feed it for a bit at least."  
  
Azelma fed the final coal to the fire, then felt her bloodied bandages and bit her lip; the nasty taste of ashes met upon her tongue; she did not grimace.  
  
"'Ponine, I'm scared."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"What if there's glass in it, from the window?"  
  
"I dunno. Not much we can do about that, then, unless you want your whole hand chopped off."  
  
Azelma whimpered; Eponine shook her head.  
  
"Don't think about it-we won't have to chop your hand off."  
  
"But Papa said, earlier-"  
  
"Don't listen to him; he only tells lies."  
  
Azelma sighed with relief.  
  
Eponine frowned. "The fire's going."  
  
"Should we try the box?"  
  
Eponine sighed. "Might as well. Go ahead; you're closer."  
  
Azelma took the box in her hands, but hesitated before sending it to its fate. The dancing fire had captured her eyes, and hypnotized her body.  
  
"'Zelma!" Eponine shoved her sister, causing the box to fly from her hands and into the flames.  
  
Chaos reigned next. The fire engulfed the box much too quickly, and the burning wood soared out of the fireplace; the girls jumped back with fright, as it seemed to float in midair before landing in the room, on top of their newspaper blankets.  
  
"'Ponine." Azelma whispered, as the flames began to spread. "'Ponine, put it out!"  
  
Eponine could only stare, indifferent, at the growing, hypnotizing fire.  
  
"Eponine!" Azelma shrieked, shrill, as she grabbed her sister's arm. "Eponine, make it stop, make it stop! Before we burn!"  
  
Eponine, then, without as much as a thought, took hold of the burning mass of wood and paper and stuffed it into the fireplace. The fire returned home to its rightful place.  
  
"What's all this ruckus?" Thénardier grumbled from the bed, rubbing his eyes sleepily.  
  
Madame Thénardier sat up as well, clutching her head, a hand upon her heart. "Girls! What's this?"  
  
Then she noticed the fire. She drew a sharp breath, then dashed to the fire to brush Eponine and Azelma out of the way.  
  
"You girls don't know what you're doing! Oh, you wasted it all! All the fire, all of it! Gone!" Madame spat into the blazing fire.  
  
"But, Mamma. We were so cold."  
  
"Enough, 'Zelma! Get back to sleep; you too, 'Ponine! We'll serve out your punishments in the morning, when I'm not so dead," Thénardier mumbled groggily.  
  
"Yes, Papa," Azelma whispered into the night.  
  
The two parents went back to sleep; but as much as they tried, the two daughters could not do the same as easily.  
  
"'Ponine." Azelma whispered.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Your hand. You burned it."  
  
"Only a little."  
  
"You're just like me now."  
  
Eponine smiled a little half-smile in the dark.  
  
"We'll heal."  
  
Then they remained there, two sisters, pressed against one another, trying to recall the precious warmth of years ago.  
  
The fire, undaunted by the Thénardiess's vile spit, still lived in the fireplace. 


End file.
